I jump from one bed to the other. That black figure chases me. Leave me alone! I run, I try to hide in every corner of the room, but that figure keeps following me. Go away! People I don’t know try to stop me, some of them talk aloud.
“I think it got to the brain…”
“Yeah… He’s having visions.”
What are they talking about? I’m not having visions. The black thing is real, and it’s here to take me. I wanna open the door – this room is not safe, this house is not safe – but someone holds me before I reach the handle. A needle perforates my harm. Let me go! But they don’t do what I ask. Instead they walk me toward the bed and force me to lay there. The black figure approaches me and I wanna jump again, but I lost all my energy. Go away! I don’t wanna die!
“It’ll be alright,” someone says, and holds my hand.
It won’t. Nothing is gonna be alright. Everything is getting dark. I don’t wanna close my eyes but I can’t help it. I’m tired.
“Paul,” I hear, “Paul…” They say again.
I can’t reply. I’m gone with the dark.
It’s Saturday afternoon when this story comes to my mind. I shall suppose it’s just a coincidence that it’s November the second, the ‘Day of the Dead’.
** Brooxy **